Not just another Tuesday
by l.write.sins.not.tragedies
Summary: "Honey, I'm home. Oh wait, I live alone.", she laughed. "Hey, love. I picked up Chinese on the way." Elizabeth Bennet was petrified.


' '-thoughts

" "- dialogue

It was a typical day in New York. There had been no good news at work, there had been no bad news. It was just…a regular Tuesday. Fortunately, no new intern had spilled coffee on his way.  
Bamm! Something crashed into her. Spoken too soon, Bennet.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and prayed for the non-existent patience she must possess somewhere deep within the recesses of her body. The teenager, in front of her, looked one step away from breaking down.

"I am so sorry, Miss. I..I", and she gave in to the sobs, "Why can't I ever get a cup of coffee, right?" she whined. " Yesterday, it was too much milk. Today, this blasted thing is on your coat. I hate my life," she sniffed.

Elizabeth was floundered. Wow. The woes of one's life. 'How does one console a teenager facing a mid-life crisis?', her mind supplied sarcastically.  
"Ehh. That's alright. I needed to get this furry thing dry cleaned. You just gave me another excuse to hurry up," she lied. She had picked that coat from the dry cleaners yesterday. She patted the girl's back before pulling her hand away when something sticky clogged her fingers. The smile on her face widened fractionally.

"So, cheers!" she exclaimed in the face of the bewildered girl, who had thankfully stopped her tirade against coffee beans.

"Uhh...I gotta go", the coffee-girl said and sprinted away as if Elizabeth had contacted the cooties. Elizabeth stared after her, mouth open. "Ungrateful teenagers.", she muttered sagely and then laughed at the unintentional but spot-on imitation of her father. 'Perhaps I am going mad,' she commiserated.

* * *

She greeted her doorman and asked after his ailing wife. Unlatching the door, she entered her apartment.

"Honey, I'm home. Oh wait, I live alone.", she laughed.

"Hey, love. I picked up some Chinese on the way."

Now, Elizabeth Bennet did not usually get scared. She could giggle through the scariest movies without flinching once. But that day, that day she understood the torment Jane must have gone through at every jump-scare. She was petrified.

She raised her hands in surrender. 'It is confirmed. I have officially gone insane.' Her eyes widened. There was a patter of footsteps moving towards her. Adrenaline rushed through her veins. "Fight or flight?", she chanted. She lunged for the baseball bat lying under the futon.

"Stay right there. Don't move. I have been lauded for my aim and I assure you that if this thing knocks your head, a hospital room will be the least of your worries."

She looked at the man, for it was clearly a well-built man, standing just beyond the hallways. His face was half-hidden in the shadows and the part that was visible was covered in thick human fur, giving him the wild appearance of a Viking risen from the dead past. Her hand shook. 'This is it. I am going to die right here. Mom will go into hysterics.'

"Elizabeth. Are you okay, sweetheart?"

'Sweetheart?' She paused and her eyes widened further as her thoughts ran rampant.

The man stepped into the light and her breath was caught in her throat. She put her bat down. 'Well, well. Perhaps Lydia and Kiddy were right. Vikings are damn good looking. Even in sweatpants.'

The man moved closer and touched her forehead. 'You look pale though your forehead is cool. Perhaps, you should lie down. New York at this time is a beehive of infections.' He fussed around the sofa, making it a perfectly cozy abode. She peered closer at his form. Something looked familiar about him. That butt..

She gasped when she made the connection. She had heard that voice before. How many people in New York had that British drawl? It was Darcy.

She justified this delayed recognition. She had never seen him with even a five o'clock shadow, let alone with such an unkempt appearance. 'There goes my theory of him.' Elizabeth had laughed with Charlotte that Fitzwilliam Darcy was a man who went to bed in his Tom Ford suit and an Audemars Piguet watch. Clearly not. He could grow a beard and he owned at least one pair of sweatpants.

A warmth on her cheek pulled her out of her thoughts. She connected it to the hand that was linked to the ball-and-socket joint on her squatter's elbow. She leaned into the touch, unconsciously. 'Hey, I am tired and his hand is large and warm.', she told the Jane voice in her head that cautioned her to trod cautiously.

"Go and lie down, love. I'll heat the food and set the table.' He kissed her on the forehead and moved towards the kitchen.

'Perhaps, he is right. I must be trapped in a dream. I'll shut my eyes for a while and when I wake up, I'd be back in my boring, lonely world.' She had taken just a few steps forward into the room when she came to a sudden halt. Her drawing-room had been vandalized. There was no way she would put up a Realist art. Was that a Rousseau text lying on her table? An ancient binding, apparently that had never seen the inside of her bookshelf. What in the world was happening? Last she remembered, Darcy had claimed to hate Rousseau's philosophy. She even remembered fighting with him about the superficiality of Realism during her stay at Netherfield. She heard the creaking of the cabinet in the kitchen. At least, that remained the same. It was strangely comforting.

Yet, too much was happening way too fast. She was lost in a world she was born in but was not a part of. She sat down in the nest created by Darcy.  
The last thing she remembered was a photo on the mantelpiece of a grinning Darcy hugging her mud-splattered self. Oh..Oh and she went down.

* * *

Something shook her awake -An insistent touch on her shoulder followed by a feather-light caress on her cheek. "Wake up, love." She snuggled into the furnace and voiced her contentment with an appreciative moan. A rumble against her chest had her eyes flying wide open. She rubbed her eyes and opened them again, blinking fast. Her eyes swayed to the ugly painting on the wall. An imitation of the previous rumble was produced in the form of a throaty laugh from a nearby source. Darcy wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his chin onto her shoulder. He too looked at the painting. Elizabeth was too bewildered to protest. Nothing had changed. "Do you remember that debate we had at Netherfield, three years ago?"

She turned her head. "Eh?"  
'Very nice, Lizzy. Way to vocalize your illiteracy. As if he already didn't think of you as an ignoramus woman.'

Wait! He was doing that thing again. The smouldering..no, no that glaring gaze. He looked deep into her eyes as if trying to drown himself in their unspeakable depth. His Adam's apple bobbed before he looked away.

Twisting an insistent curl lying against her neck, he wrapped it around his finger before pushing the wisp behind her ear. "The debate we had, about Realism over Charles' table. Caroline was horrified you would dare to call the style 'unsophisticated' and though, I pretended to disagree with you, it was just to see the fire in your eyes." He paused before continuing huskily, " I have said it before and I will say it again, you are one gorgeous woman, Elizabeth Darcy and I want to get burnt by you."

'Darcy? Elizabeth Darcy? When did that happen? Did I hit my head somewhere and lose my memory? Still, three years? Or... Oh my god, is Darcy schizophrenic, who has delusions about me being his wife? But why me? Why not the orange harpy?' She was on the verge of hyperventilating. Her breath grew deeper as her mind processed the words further. 'Three years ago? That debate, no that fight, happened two nights ago.'

Darcy was still speaking. "..and that is why I brought this painting all those months ago. It reminds me of the first time you enchanted me with that keen wit of yours. Indeed, my beauty with brains." With that, he picked up her hand and kissed the small ring that had never been a part of her memory previously. She looked at it with horror. Not because it was an ugly embellishment. No, it was indeed a thing of beauty. A simple band with a small emerald in the middle. What was horrifying was that she had never seen it before. Let alone have it adorned on her finger. She gulped.

"Listen, Darcy, I gotta tell you.."

There was a ping from the oven. She jumped at the sudden sound while Darcy rushed into the kitchen. There was a clang and a distinct sound of profanities being uttered. Darcy, swearing? Never had she thought she'd hear that. She produced a hysterical laugh, or was it a sob? Running her fingers through the tangled mess on her head, she bit her lip, thinking of a way to get out of this predicament.

"Well, the cookies are burnt", came a sheepish shout from the direction of the kitchen.

She had definitely gone down the rabbit hole.

* * *

"I was thinking since we are having Christmas lunch with the Bennets and Georgiana would be in Maine with her 'manfriend' " he uttered with distaste, "we can invite Richard and his boyfriend over for dinner," Darcy pondered after wrapping the Chow Mein around the chopsticks in a way that would have made any Chinese momma proud. Lizzy gave a pitiful glance to the fork she was using. She shook her head to focus.

"Umm..I'm sorry, what?", she blinked.

Darcy had an amused smile on his face and with one hand resting on his chin, flicked her forehead gently, with the other.

"Honestly, Elizabeth, do you really think pretending ignorance will get you out of the lunch? Think about Jane and Charles. They will need your support if both your mother and her sister are raiding Netherfield."

"At least the food will be good," she responded after a beat, hoping her inner turmoil was not reflected on her face. Darcy, dining with her family without pulling his teeth out? Does that mean Jane and Charles got together, finally? She shot a skeptical glance at her dining partner.

Said man merely laughed and dug into his food with gusto.

He looked up and clearly, hesitated to say something. Elizabeth held her breath in fear of him calling her out on being an imposter.

"Speaking of Christmas, I was thinking of gifting those concert tickets to Lydia. I know you are upset with her but she's agreed to join rehab and it's Christmas, Elizabeth", he almost whined. "She's a kid. And everybody deserves a break that day", he finished. She was definitely in a parallel world.

The rest of the meal passed in a companionable silence broken by tidbits shared by Darcy mentioning people named Mrs. Reynolds, Georgiana. Who they were, she had no idea. Still, she gave an encouraging smile to keep his from faltering when he registered the lack of enthusiasm from the usually bubbly girl.

When Darcy got up to put away the dishes, Lizzy acknowledged defeat and looked down at her lap. She looked up and suddenly, there was a pair of squinted eyes in her vision. 'Were his eyes always so grey?', she swallowed heavily.

He tapped her nose and handed her a glass of wine. "Go sit in front of the fire and drink this up. It should make you feel better. Meanwhile, I'll clean up inside." She had offered to clear away the table but he had resisted until she gave away. She did not think she had to strength to argue further.

* * *

Sitting on the rug, she stared into the fire and agonized over her situation. 'Who is the real Darcy? The one who adores his supposed wife like this or the one who has disdain for all things middle-class?'

A rush of breath beside her had her swivelling around to look at the intruder.

"You still take my breath away", her besotted husband murmured.

She took a tentative sip of her beverage to avoid answering and was astonished. It was her choice of poison. "How did you know I like this?", she wondered.

"It would indeed be a sorry situation if a husband does not know his wife's liquor", his lips twitched, half in amusement and half in confusion.

She looked back into the embers. She did not think Darcy had smiled this much in her entire acquaintance.

A warm hand on her chin beckoned her to look up.

"Hey, is everything okay, love? You have been so down since you got back".

Her head swam. Seeing the genuine concern in his eyes, she found she could no longer meet his eyes. She felt guilty of a crime she had never committed.

Cradling her head in her hands, she whispered, "I guess I am just tired. It was a busy day at the office and this blasted headache does not help." She gave a weak chuckle to soothe his worry. That frown in his brow, no matter how endearing it made him look, did not give her any relief. Yet, it did not yield the desired result. Taking hold of her nerve, she put her head on his shoulder, tentatively and sniffed his woodsy scent. The warmth of the wool under her cheek pushed her to put her arm around his middle and snuggle deeper. Finally, she felt his stiff body give way to repose. He put both his arms around her and kissed her softly on her temple. She may end up with a beard burn the following day but Elizabeth Bennet was far too relaxed to care.

A few minutes in, she startled and poked Darcy in his chest. He grunted in annoyance on being forced to open his eyes. "What is that thing?", Elizabeth pointed at the garish cover concealing a... tape?

Will blinked. "Oh, that." He snuggled back into Elizabeth's neck and grumbled. "I don't know when old Cathy will stop sending me old opera tapes. They make my ears bleed. Yes, I know you don't like opera either. You may put them into the fire, for all I care. Now, shut up and let me take a nap."

She looked around the room and spotted another photo hanging on the wall beside the front door. It had four people smiling at the camera, all four dressed to the nines. She knew Jane would be a beautiful bride. As for herself, she could hardly recognize the glowing brunette in white. She attributed it to the striking man beside her fitted in a tailor-made tux who himself glimmered with joy. Unless Jane had married William and she had married Charles, that photo was clicked on the day the two sisters got hitched to the two men who had stolen their hearts.

She sighed and looked at the man snoring softly above her. She ran her hands through his hair and chuckled lightly when he gave a sigh of approval. She may not know this world but she was willing to live in it if William Darcy stood with her, standing on his vow to love and cherish her forever. Before joining him in slumber, she wondered if she would end up back in her world on waking up. How would she face _her _Darcy knowing him the way she does now?

Oh, well, at least it was not just another Tuesday. That would have been boring. Perhaps next Tuesday, she'd end up in an alternate reality with Colin Firth.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I know it is an open ending. I intended it to be that way. Reviews are always appreciated. Happy New Year! :)


End file.
